Who Be The Peeper?
by BreakingFable
Summary: There's a peeping tom on the loose in the WWE! Follow the clues, and be the first to guess who it is! Collaboration with Onions.
1. I Like Big Butts

**A/N: This story is a collaboration between myself and the ever-mysterious Onions. It is pure stupidity. Enjoy!**

**As always, WWE owns everything, I own nothing. **

Mickie James left the gym that night feeling downtrodden. Her beer pooch simply wouldn't go away. She'd done thousands upon thousands of sit-ups and crunches, all to no avail. Her stomach remained doughy and round, no matter the effort she put in. It wasn't logical! Glaring down at her offending muffin-top, she poked the soft skin, watching as her finger disappeared in its depths.

Looking around to ensure that no one had seen, she pulled her finger out of her stomach fat and continued along to the locker room, glower firmly in place.

Little did she know that someone watched her every movement from the shadows.

* * * * * * *

"So then, I told CM Punk he could, like, take me out to a nice dinner, or something, if he wanted to get a piece of my ass! And he, like totally said okay!", squealed Kelly Kelly, clapping her hands together moronically.

Mickie sat on a bench clad in a white towel. She was brushing her hair as she listened to Kelly's lame excuse for a story.

Unable to take anymore, she put down the brush and rose.

"That's great, Kelly. Well, I've gotta shower now. I'll see you later."

"Uh, okay, cool!" Giggling, the moronic blonde skipped off to find someone else to torture.

Mickie entered the shower area and hung her towel on a hook. Turning on the spray, she stepped under the water. She closed her eyes, wetting her hair down, allowing the warm water to relax her sore muscles.

A noise off to the right drew her attention suddenly, and she gasped, startled. Wiping the water out of her eyes, she tried to see what could have caused the small scratching sound that had echoed across the shower area.

"Rats", she muttered disgustedly to herself.

Annoyed and grossed out in equal measure, she hurried her shower along, finishing quickly. Grabbing her towel, she began to walk out of the showering area, and back towards the locker rooms.

She heard another scratching noise behind the wall as she walked away. Stopping, she looked around once more.

"They should really get an exterminator into this place", she muttered.

The noise sounded again. Mickie's head shot to the right. This time, she let out a high-pitched scream of terror, bringing all of the divas running into the showering area.

Mickie stood, her face a sickly gray color, her eyes wide. She was pointing at the wall, staring at it like it was a terrible monster that had attacked her.

"There were two eyes", she whispered shakily, "Someone was there. Two eyes…"

That was all they could get from her.

The Peeper had claimed his first victim.

* * * * * * *

Vince McMahon was pacing back and forth outside of the women's locker room, wishing Shane's flight hadn't been delayed so the prodigal son could handle this less than ideal situation. Vinnie Mac was getting too old to deal with this crap.

A few minutes ago, thirteen divas practically broke down his office door screaming incoherently about "eyes, eyes, eyes!" Once Vince was able to settle them down, he learned that not only did he have an apparent peeping tom on his roster or crew, but that he would also have to pay the arena to fix two eye-holes that had been drilled into the wall of the women's locker room.

Vince McMahon did not like to part with his money unnecessarily.

Mickie was leaning up against Melina for support, spurting out "pig!" and "disgusting!" between sobs. Vince walked over to her and said in the most gentle tone he could muster, "Mickie, stop crying. We'll catch this guy, this…cretin who spoiled your innocence."

She looked up at her boss and attempted to smile, but Mickie's lazy eye and tear-soaked face reminded him of Sloth from The Goonies. "Baby Ruth," Vince thought to himself, choking back his laughter.

Right then, Jeff Hardy and Christian walked around the corner. "What's goin' on?" Jeff asked, his face half-painted with silver and black streaks. Christian just stood there looking like a lost puppy.

McMahon ushered them on. "Don't worry about it boys. Nothing to see here. Go get ready for the show."

Christian bowed and said, "Aye! Good day, sir!" in a horrible English accent and sauntered off with his painted friend.

McMahon turned away and muttered, "There's something wrong with that guy. Fucking Canadians." He turned his attention back to the divas and this mess, all the while thinking "Who would want to see Mickie's mud flaps anyway?"

* * * * * * *

"Give it away, give it away, give it away now!" streamed into the abandoned locker room as the flame from a small butane lighter flickered in and out.

"Fuck, I love me some Chili Peppers!" said a hushed voice in the darkness.

He farted then and laughed. He was almost sad that no one was here to share the whiff.

"Time to make the doughnuts," he thought to himself, and began hatching the details of his next encounter.

Who would it be this time? Melina? Eve? Hunter?

There he stood in a pair of Ugg boots, some purple tights, a superman t-shirt, a green cape, and a William Shatner mask. His disguise was complete. And his wiener was poised for battle.

* * * * * * *

Matt Hardy stood admiring himself in the full-length mirror in front of him. He twisted and turned, letting his eyes roam over every inch of his tanned, toned skin. He smirked as he looked over the new spandex pants. Yup, he mused, they looked damn good on him.

Matt turned so that he got a view of his ass. A grin split his face.

"Damn, boy, looks like all that cardio finally paid off", he murmured to himself.

He gave his ass a hard slap, grinning when he felt the rock-hard butt cheek beneath his palm.

Pushing his hair out of his eyes, Matt began to make muscles, and to pose, as if he were being shot for Musclehead Weekly Magazine.

"Damn I look good", he said, turning away from the mirror.

He looked up at the time, and realized that he'd been ogling himself for 40 minutes now. He had to get changed, or he was going to be late to meet Jeff and the other guys.

He began to pull his spandex pants down. A shuffling off towards the center of the empty locker room drew his attention suddenly.

"Hello?", he called. There was no answer.

"Hey, anyone there?" Matt tried again.

After a moment, another noise met his ears.

"Alright, this isn't funny, man-"

Suddenly, a great, dark figure burst out of the shadows, scurrying with great speed towards the locker room door. Matt let out a high-pitched, girly scream, and fell backwards.

When he'd managed to recover, he pulled himself up and looked around. Whatever it had been was gone now.

He looked into the mirror again.

"Damn", he said gravely, "I look so good that people are sneaking into the locker rooms just to get a peek!"

Taking one last look at his superior bum, he wondered if he should get himself a bodyguard.

* * * * * * *

**Who is the Peeper?! Stay tuned to find out! **

**We love Reviews! Send us Reviews! :)**


	2. Dead Man Walking

**A/N: Animal Luvr 4 Life, we had to make Matt scream like a girl after all of the mean crap he's been doing on TV lately; glad you enjoyed it. Renna33, very well-reasoned guess; time will tell if you're right! Slashdlite, you never know what'll happen in this story, especially when Onions is around! Onions, stop reviewing your own damn story! :) WoJo4EVER, glad you're enjoying the story, and stick around to see if your guess pans out!**

**Thanks to all who reviewed (except for Onions; just kidding)!**

**As always, the WWE owns everything, Onions and I own nothing.**

"I think he was gonna watch me get nekkid", said Matt Hardy in hushed tones.

He and his brother were sitting in the catering area, having dinner and talking about the peeping tom that had nearly gotten a full view of the older Hardy's fleshy banana.

"Woah. Not cool." Jeff watched his brother gravely as he recounted his tale of woe. He shook his rainbow head in disbelief.

"Yeah, I know. Not that I can blame him for wanting to see all this." Matt gestured at his abs and spandex-clad groin.

Jeff ignored his brother's proud boast, and tapped a finger on his lips in thoughtful contemplation. "You know, Matty, now that I'm thinking about it, there was some big commotion outside the women's locker room. Jay and I walked right past it, but McMahon wouldn't tell us anything. Mickie was like, freaking out and crying, and stuff. What if this peeping tom guy, whoever he is, did the same thing to her?"

Matt raised an eyebrow. "My god, Jeffro!", he exclaimed, "There's a serial peeper on the loose in the WWE!"

"Yeah, man", agreed Jeff, sitting up straighter and looking into Matt's eyes determinedly, "You know what this means, don't you?"

Matt nodded. "It's our duty, as really, really smart dudes, to hunt him down and destroy him."

Jeff solemnly nodded.

Let the Peeper just try and check out some unsuspecting superstar or diva again. The Hardys would fuck him up for life.

* * * * * * *

The Undertaker carefully clipped his nose hair in the locker room mirror. He gathered up the trimmings when he'd finished, making sure to drop them in the pocket of his trench coat. Since he'd begun his wrestling career, he had never outright disposed of body hair. It was bad luck to do so. Everyone knew that.

Gliding away from the mirror, Mark moved towards his bag. He slowly pulled off his ring gear, folding it with practiced ease and laying it on the bench. Stretching tortured muscles, he walked, naked, into the shower.

He didn't see the shadowy figure in the corner, following his every move with his eyes.

The Undertaker wet down and soaped up, scrubbing the stink of the ring off of himself. He sighed at the simple pleasure.

Suddenly, his eyes shot open. He tried to scrub soap out of his field of vision so that he could see. Mark was sure that he'd heard something across the room.

Through the bleary haze caused by shampoo running into his eyes, the Deadman was certain he saw a man standing there, watching him.

"Son of a bitch!", he cried.

He saw the bastard bolt for the door. On instinct, Mark ran after him, not caring that he was completely naked. The Deadman, infuriated, realized very quickly that he had pursued the peeping tom out into a hallway filled with shocked crewmen. Rubbing his stinging eyes, he saw that the pervert had disappeared.

"Fuck!", yelled Mark, who turned and kicked the wall.

A group of guys who had been on their way to load up the trucks just stared at the great and powerful Undertaker, who was standing in the hallway, butt-naked, and half-covered in soap and shampoo. The Phenom had been chasing a guy who had been wearing, of all things, a cape, a William Shatner mask, tights, and Ugg boots.

"Uh, sir?", one of the workers dared to ask, his curiosity too strong to allow him to keep silent.

"What?", snarled Mark, his eyes burning with fury.

"Is this some kind of weird sex game?"

Growling, the Undertaker picked the diminutive crewman up by his throat, and threw him across the hallway, watching with satisfaction as he slid down the wall like a crushed bug.

Muttering to himself, Mark stormed into his private locker room and slammed the door, hoping to finish his shower in peace.

* * * * * * *

Jeff and Matt Hardy were bound and determined to find their pervert.

Tonight was an excellent time to conduct investigations into the matter, as RAW and Smackdown were taping together. There were superstars milling around everywhere in the catering area before the show, talking good-naturedly and having a bite to eat.

The Hardy brothers stood at the entrance to the large room. Jeff, who wore a monocle, held an old-fashioned, Sherlock Holmes-style magnifying glass, and had a notepad for writing down any relevant details, spotted someone he wanted to start with.

"I'd bet any amount of money that before this is over, Jericho's gonna get some Peeper action", Jeff said sadly, "I'm gonna go make sure that he hasn't been hit by the pervert yet."

"Let's keep a clear head, Jeffro", Matt admonished, "Anyone could be the Peeper. Even Jericho. Remember that we can't trust anyone."

Jeff nodded. "Yeah, I know. Good luck, my brother in arms. Be careful out there."

Matt saluted in reply, watching as Jeff began to gracefully wend his way through the crowd of wrestlers.

Now who should he interview first?

Maria was standing near him, munching on a carrot stick.

Shrugging, he made his way over to her. When she saw him standing there, she smiled. "Hey there, Matty. What's new?"

"Have you, in any way, been molested by the criminal known as The Peeper?", he blurted out.

She stared at him, eyes wide.

Across the room, Matt heard Jericho yelling, "What's your deal, freak?! What the hell is a 'Peeper'?!"

Matt wrote something down, and moved on, without a word of explanation.

He tried asking Big Show next.

"Have you, in any way, been molested by the criminal known as The Peeper?"

Big Show made two giant fists. "Get away from me. Now."

Matt backed away, making notes. This wasn't going as he'd planned.

Across the room, Jeff ignored the jibes about his monocle. It made him feel smart, like MacGuyver, so those guys could just suck it.

Looking over his notes and rubbing his chin as he pondered, the younger Hardy found that he'd come up with absolutely nothing conclusive tonight, except for the fact that Hunter had really bad breath. Shaking his head in disappointment, Jeff shut his notebook, and began to search around for Matt.

"Hey, boy."

The younger Hardy stiffened. Turning slowly, he came face to face with the Undertaker himself.

"Hear you've been asking around about some guy peeping in locker rooms." The man was huge. He glared down at Jeff with an impenetrable stare.

The younger man swallowed nervously. "Uh, yeah. He was staring at Matty the other night. It pissed us off. So, we decided we're gonna find out who it is."

The Deadman looked amused. "Oh, you decided that, did you?"

Jeff puffed out his chest. "Yeah, we did. You have a problem with that, Deadman?"

Mark narrowed his eyes. "Don't fucking piss me off, kid. I'm having a bad day."

Jeff took a step back, grinning nervously. "Sorry, man. My bad."

"So, you found any big leads there?", asked Mark, gesturing to Jeff's notebook.

"Hell no", replied Jeff angrily, "No one knows shit. And if they do, they're not talking."

The Deadman leaned down, meeting Jeff's frustrated gaze. "I have plenty I could tell you", he said, "That bastard Peeper was checking me out last night."

He straightened up suddenly, curling his hands into white-knuckled fists. "_No one_ sees the Deadman's cock and balls without permission!"

Jeff grimaced at the mental image. "Aw, gross!"

* * * * * * *

**The plot is slowly thickening, like very very old, condensed soup over a low flame!!! Soon, it will catch on FIRE!**

**Keep reading and for the love of god, REVIEW! **


	3. A Peck of Pickled Peepers

**A/N: Animal Luvr 4 Life, the Hardys are doing their very best to hunt down the Peeper bitch, and destroy him! :) WoJo4EVER, we are glad you enjoyed our sick humor, and didn't run away screaming; in our book, that means you rock! Renna33, check out this chapter for a little twist regarding your guess; we put it in just for you; does it mean your guess is wrong? Only time will tell… :)**

**Thanks to all reviewers! **

**WWE owns all, we own nothing.**

"Awwww man! Who didn't flush again?" screamed Stephanie 'da Boss Man's daughter' McMahon, standing in front of the only empty bathroom stall in the locker room. "Maryse! This isn't France!" she yelled as the pitch of her voice went higher and higher with every passing word.

"We don't leave dooks in our fucking toilets for the seagulls to eat, you damn pig!" Stephanie held her breath and reached in to flush the offending log away…away forever.

She laughed then, thinking about the horrible storyline she was going to get her writers to put the French whore in. The happy thought forced her to take a breath and she almost passed out at the lingering stink of the brown bunny that just died in the septic tank.

Stephanie threw up in her mouth a little bit, sat on the porcelain seat and got down to business.

* * * * * * *

On the opposite side of the arena, Triple H was doing deep-lunge squat thrusts. He thoroughly enjoyed the sweet burn.

Five feet away, Cody Rhodes was preening in front of a mirror, giggling to himself.

"Hey Cody," shot Hunter to the slender wrestler. "Stop being a bitch and go get me a soda!"

"Oh, uh yeah. Ok, Paul. Be right back," the legacy answered, and promptly skipped off to find a cold carbonated beverage for the King of Kings.

"Diet, you asshole!" yelled Triple H as the youngest Rhodes sauntered down the empty hall. "Fucking retard," he thought to himself and got back to his squats.

* * * * * * *

"There's poo in the hallway! There's poo in the hallway!" shrieked Santino, jumping and throwing his hands up in the air like a twit.

Jeff and Matt Hardy came running around the corner just then, diligently searching out the source of the screaming.

"Did you get peeped upon, man?" asked Jeff excitedly. He fished around in his pockets for his magnifying glass, wanting to be armed and ready for any clues that popped up.

Santino shook his head and pointed to the floor. "It's…brown…thing." He stopped suddenly and just stared at the brown mound.

Matt got out his notebook and started writing furiously as Jeff bent down and took a closer look at the offending pile.

"Yep, it's poo." Jeff said. "Corns and everything. Smells like burritos."

Matt tucked his pen back behind his left ear and said solemnly, "Yes, Jeff. It looks like the Peeper has become the Pooper."

* * * * * * *

In a dark room at the very heart of the arena, Ted Dibiase sat on a steel folding chair, rocking back and forth and muttering to himself. There was a crazy look in his eye. He sniffed, taking in the unpleasant smell of his swamp ass.

"I'll get them all… I'll get them all… Bow down to my poo, assholes…"

He let out a crazy, high-pitched giggle, thinking about their dumb faces when they discovered his tiny brown packages.

"The Pooper will strike again!", he said, wild ecstasy in his voice.

Forcing himself to calm down, he began to rock again, back and forth.

He smiled as he felt something stirring. Those burritos were going right through him.

"Excellent", he said, rubbing his hands together evilly, "Excellent…"

* * * * * * *

"_Hit me you can't hurt me… suck my kiss_!!!"

Thanking god for the calming effect of Anthony Kiedis' wise words, the Peeper sat in his secret lair, planning.

He clenched his hammy hands in anger, remembering what he'd seen in catering. Matt and Jeff Hardy were onto him. Mmmm… Matt and Jeff Hardy… on… him…

No, man, no gay stuff! He slapped his face, firmly admonishing himself.

Matt's ass _was_ tight, though.

The Peeper's bloodshot eyes narrowed. That was it. The Hardys had turned him gay. The Hardys were trying to hunt him down.

He was going to get the Hardys back for their treachery, when the time was right.

Nobody fucked with the Peeper!

He sniffed, suddenly smelling something terrible. Looking to his right, he realized there was a log of poo at his feet.

He growled, kicking it away.

And, he was gonna kill Ted while he was at it. This Pooper shit needed to stop.

* * * * * * *

"HELP!!! OH, HELP!!!!" Santino's high-pitched screams rang through the halls of the arena, making anyone within earshot wince in pain.

The Hardys were the first to come running, notebooks and magnifying glass in hand, chests heaving with the excitement of it all.

"What? What's wrong?", cried Jeff, pulling on his monocle, "Did someone sneak a look at your man-parts? Was it the Peeper?"

Santino shot him a funny look, but replied, "Yes, Hardys, it was!! I was in the bathroom, just doing my business, when suddenly I realized there was a weird guy watching me from the shadows! Oh my, how I screamed!"

Matt and Jeff threw each other a meaningful glance, nodding once.

"Did you see what he was wearing or anything?", asked Matt.

"Oh, yes!", replied Santino, "A cape, and weird, ugly boots, and a scary mask, and a Superman t-shirt."

"So, like, what happened after he realized you spotted him?", asked Jeff, who was scribbling furiously in his notepad.

Santino said, "He ran out the door! He ran away! He was so fast!"

Matt and Jeff thanked him, asking him to let them know if he remembered anything else about the incident.

Walking down the hallway, they began to discuss what they knew.

"Well, he's Peeped on three guys and one girl so far", observed Matt.

"Maybe Mickie ruined his heterosexuality for good, once he saw her naked", giggled Jeff.

Matt continued to look over his notes, many of which, he now realized, were scribbled, nonsensical drawings.

"So, maybe we should be looking at the gay guys on the roster", said Jeff, eyes brightening with an idea.

Matt stared at him. "But, he's peeped at girls too, Jeff-"

"Only one, Matt." Jeff nodded in thoughtful contemplation. "I think that the Peeper might've been gay from the start. Look at the elaborate costume he wears. Gay guys love that shit. I figure he peeped at Mickie first, to get a girl over and done with, and to alleviate any suspicion on the gay guys. It worked, too. He's gone after three guys now, and we haven't looked at any butt pirates yet. After all, what butt-wrangler would ever want a peek at Mickie James' poo-nan?" Jeff looked at his brother, nodding with confidence. "So, we go to the gay guys, and we ask a few questions."

Matt blinked in surprise. "You know, Jeff, that actually, makes sense."

As they walked away, Matt said, "Wait a minute, Jeff, aren't _you_ gay?"

Jeff stopped walking, thinking hard. His brows were furrowed in concentration. "Oh yeah! I forgot about that. My bad."

Apparently reunited with his sexual orientation, Jeff resumed his walk down the hallway, whistling happily the entire time.

Matt shook his head as he watched his brother move away. "What an incredible retard", he thought to himself, smirking. Tucking his useless notepad away, the older Hardy began to skip, in an effort to catch up with his younger sibling.

* * * * * * *

**What will be the fate of the Pooper?! What does the Peeper have planned for the Hardys?! Will Matt and Jeff find the answers they are looking for in the Land of the Gay Wrestlers?! WHO IS THE PEEPER?!**

**Find out the answer to all of these burning questions, and more, in the next installment! Onions and BreakingFable love Reviews, so send them on over, and make our day!!!**


	4. The Gays Walk Among Us

**A/N: Animal Luvr 4 Life, glad you're hanging in there with us, and also glad you liked the Pooper (it just seemed appropriate for Ted Dibiase, for some reason). Renna33, an excellent guess! It's totally logical to think Orton, given the circumstances; however, once you read this chapter, I doubt you'll suspect him anymore. Slashdlite, happy to see you haven't run away screaming yet (Onions has that effect on people), and yes, gayness is good, as you will read in this chapter. WoJo4EVER, yeah, Matt and Jeff are crazy guys! I figure they have to be to do what they do. The mystery of the Peeper will be revealed soon, so stick with us!**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

**As always, WWE owns all, I own nothing.**

Matt and Jeff came upon a pink, glittery door. It was a door that Jeff had spied before, in his dreams. It was a door that Matt had vowed never, never to enter, as long as he lived.

It was the door that opened into the gay wrestlers' locker room.

Matt and Jeff each took deep, steadying breaths as they readied themselves to enter. The brothers knew that questioning these limp-wristed suspects would be no easy task. The moment the metallic stink of fear permeated the air, they would pounce.

There was no going back once that happened. You'd be gay for life.

That was how they'd gotten Kendrick, and Cody.

"Matt, I'm scared", whispered Jeff. He gripped his brother's arm tightly for support, staring at the pink sparkles that loudly declared "Keep Out (Unless You Are Hugh Jackman)".

Matt nodded mutely, eyes wide in horror. He felt cold inside. He had heard of this terrible place, but, as a straight man, had never dared ventured near. He was willing to sacrifice his manhood this day, however, if it would mean finding the bastard pig peeper plaguing WWE locker rooms.

"Let's go, Jeffro", he said shakily, pushing the frilly pink door open and walking in before his courage could leave him. Jeff held tight to his investigative tools, and followed.

Shrill, high-pitched screams met their ears the moment they entered. Half-naked wrestlers were running all over the place, scrambling to conceal their states of undress from the intruders.

Suddenly, a loud voice rang out over the ear-splitting din.

"Everyone, halt!"

The gay cacophony came to a sudden stop.

Adam Copeland stood on a bench wearing a towel around his waist and cucumber exfoliant on his face. His eyes were blazing with fury as he stared at the Hardys.

"Grim Reaper on a cracker!" exclaimed Edge, the exuberant leader of the gays. "Look boys, it's the Hardy brothers! Get the champagne!"

As the half-naked group began swarming the pink refrigerator along the back wall like a frenzied pack of wolves, a voice cut through the din. "STOP, GAYS!"

It was Jeff who was commanding the WWE faeries to cease their celebrating. He was standing on a plastic bucket in the middle of the room, arms raised in protest. "We are not here to join you, gays. We respect you, but no Hardy's shall join you. Not today."

A shudder of disappointment passed through the crowd.

"We need your help, gays!", pleaded Matt, "There is a dangerous peeper victimizing the wrestlers of the WWE! We have reason to believe that he could be right here, in this very locker room. Jeff and I have to question you, to eliminate you as suspects."

Hornswoggle sauntered up to stand next to Edge. He puffed up his mini man-chest, threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, silly boys", he said, grinning, "you're forgetting yourselves. This is _our_ locker room. You can't just barge your muscular, manly behinds in here and tell us what to do."

"But-"

Finlay dropped a hand onto Hornswoggle's small shoulder. "My gay son is right!", he exclaimed, waving his shillelagh about dangerously, "He may be a flamin' fairy, but no one's gonna interrogate him without his say-so, especially the likes o' you!"

"But-"

"You heard them, Matty", said Adam, smirking, "Scoot."

Matt glared. Jeff just looked lost.

"Fine, Edge, we'll go", said the older Hardy, "But this isn't over. As of now, the gays are at the top of our suspect list!"

The Hardys backed out of the pink, frilly room slowly. Matt couldn't help but place his notebook over his crotch. He felt eyes roaming over his weiner, and he didn't like it.

The older Hardy exited first, followed closely by Jeff. Before he closed the door, the Enigma flipped the locker room full of gay wrestlers the middle finger.

As they walked away, the Hardys realized that they had just made some potentially deadly enemies. They could only hope that their asses would survive intact.

* * * * * * *

"Boo-yah! That was soooo hot!", exclaimed Batista, fanning himself in a decidedly limp-wristed fashion, "Holy bologna! I think I might faint!"

Kung Fu Naki nodded in fervent agreement. "Hardy Boyz are super fine! I would soooo hit that!"

Edge sat on a bench in the corner of the locker room, silently watching his gay compatriots. They were buzzing about Matt and Jeff's little impromptu visit. The Rated R Superstar listened to their conversation with mild amusement.

"I'd _love_ to show them my big red machine!", Kane giggled.

"You mean your _little_ red machine, Kaney boy!" Batista shot back, playfully.

Suddenly, a girlish, high-pitched scream rang out. Everyone froze, and began frantically looking around.

Jack Swagger was pale, shaking, and staring towards the darkened shower area as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Jack?", asked Adam, moving up beside him, "What's wrong?"

The locker room was silent as they awaited his reply.

Suddenly, a figure in tights and a cape ran out of the shadows, and sprinted for the door.

"Oh holy balls, it's Superman!", screamed Randy Orton, hugging himself protectively.

"No, you bitch", Adam said softly, watching the strange figure disappear out the door, "it's the Peeper."

Pulling his cell phone out of his bag, he quickly dialed Matt Hardy's number. This attack on the gays would not stand. No one peeped at gay booty without permission.

They would have their vengeance.

May god have mercy on the Peeper's soul.

* * * * * * *

"_Under the bridge downtown is where I drew some blooood!"_

"Ooooh, yeah, sing it, Anthony", muttered the Peeper, "Sing it, bitch."

He was feeling extremely agitated. He'd looked forward to spying on the gays for weeks now. All of those half-naked wrestlers, walking around like a fleshy man-meat buffet. He smiled at the memory.

His blissful recollections turned sour as he thought of the Hardys, walking in and ruining his fun. He was surprised that the brothers were going so far as to brave the gays' locker room, a place most straight men stayed far away from.

The Hardy brothers had balls, he'd give them that. (Probably big ones, he thought, smiling for a brief moment.) But their investigations into his peeping activities could not continue.

He grinned evilly as he realized it was time to take drastic action.

It was time to put some fear into them.

"_Under the bridge downtown I gave my life away!"_

The Peeper rocked back and forth, lost in the music. He let his mind wander, forming and discarding plans for his next exploit.

Tonight, vengeance. Tomorrow, sweaty meat buffet.

His life had become a delightful routine.

He bent over to tie his sneaker. Rising, he turned off the Chili Peppers CD, and slipped out of his hidden lair, making his way towards the locker rooms.

* * * * * * *

Jeff had just locked himself into his private locker room. He'd had a grueling match tonight against the Undertaker, and every inch of him was hurting. He just wanted to shower the stink off, and get some sleep.

Suddenly, his cell phone began to play Christina Aguilera's "Genie in a Bottle", the song he'd set as Matt's personal ringtone. He groaned, scratching his ass. What did his brother want now?

He answered his iPhone. "Hey, Matt, what's up?"

"Hey, listen, Edge called me. He wants to meet with us sometime tomorrow. Apparently, the gays were peeped on."

Jeff sighed. This was getting out of hand. "Yeah, whatever. Just set it up. I have to run. I'll talk to you later."

He undressed, wrapping a towel around his lithe waist. Bending over, he began fishing through his bag to grab some shampoo for the shower. A dusty fart escaped his cheeks.

Suddenly, he heard a noise behind him. It was a scraping sound, an unfriendly sound. He held his breath and stayed perfectly still, his hand resting on a pair of Batman briefs.

The noise repeated itself, only it sounded much closer.

Jeff straightened and twisted around, briefs held out in front of him, like a shield.

He saw a flash of cape and a mask and a blue shirt, and then an arm was connecting forcefully with his neck, bringing him down with an effective clothesline. Jeff flew back with the force of the blow and landed on his back.

The last thing he saw before he passed out was a freaky-ass William Shatner mask and a meaty fist connecting painfully with his face.

"Genie in a Bottle" playing in the background serenaded him into unconsciousness.

* * * * * * *

Matt was pounding on Jeff's locker room door, frantically trying to determine if his brother was ok. He wasn't answering his phone.

"Hey Hunter! Come here and help me!" Matt pleaded to the big lug who was busy doing deep thrust leg squats further down the hallway.

Hunter waddled over. The friction of his upper thigh meat slapping together hindered his progress. He finally made it over to Matt and asked gruffly, "What's the malfunction, Hardy?"

"I think my damn brother is in trouble. Help me break this stinking door down!"

The dreamy bo-hunks pushed at the door in unison, to no avail. They tried ramming into it with their full weight, which, combined, was quite a lot these days. The fucking door didn't budge.

Hunter rubbed his shoulder and looked around for something to aid in the effort. He picked up a rotting sofa that was up against the opposite wall and threw it at the obstinate door. It left a dent, but the door remained impassable.

"Shane! Get over here!" Hunter yelled to his brother-in-law.

Shane hurried over, and lent his assistance. With the added weight of Shane's sagging meat puffers, they were finally able to bust the entranceway down.

Matt leapt over the broken frame and found his brother unconscious on the concrete floor. Jeff was clutching a pair of stained black and yellow Batman undies in his hands.

"Hunter, call someone! Jeff's been attacked!"

Hunter waddled back down the hallway in search of help. Shane just stood there like a lump.

Jeff stirred then, groaning in pain.

"Little bro, don't move," said Matt. "Help is on the way."

Just then, Matt noticed a piece of paper safety-pinned to Jeff's towel. "What the fuck is this?" he exclaimed.

The note simply read:

_Peepers get plucked._

_Pluckers get peeped._

_Sheep get bleeped._

_Motherfuckers get CREEPED!_

Matt couldn't believe his eyes. This Peeper character was more dangerous than he thought. The fucking bastard was a _rhymer_!

This was going to get ugly. Very, very ugly.

* * * * * * * *

**Holy shit, the Peeper is getting violent with the Hardys! Not cool! Will the gays turn out to be allies, or enemies? And what ever happened to that Pooper guy?**

**Keep reading to find out! Review, and tell us who you think the Peeper is! There's absolutely no prize for guessing correctly! :)**


	5. Pig Bomb

**A/N: Animal Luvr 4 Life, the Peeper (and the Pooper) cause all sorts of ridiculous mischief! Stay tuned to see what happens next! Seraphalexiel, that is a damn good guess, and well thought out too! You'll have to keep reading to see if you're right though… Sadness1986, glad we can inject a hint of comedy relief into your regimen of angst! ;) Renna33, the gay wrestlers are taking over this damn story! They were meant to be this little side stop on the Hardys' investigation, and they're turning into central characters. But anyway, glad you're enjoying them. Slashdlite, Christian is a good guess! Keep reading to see who it is! InkyDoodle, we strive to be strange, so thank you for appreciating our weirdness! Esha Napoleon, you know, in their own ways, Morrison, Randy, and Miz ALL make sense! But we're not telling… Keep reading to find out who the damn dirty Peeper is!**

**Thanks to all who review! It is much appreciated.**

**WWE owns all, Onions and BreakingFable own nothing.**

The empty street was dimly-lit by a lone streetlamp, shining into a heavy covering of damp fog. A mysterious man in a fedora and trench coat stood idly in the shadows, playing with his long blonde hair, and waiting.

"Psst!" A voice whispered from across the street, bringing the man to attention. "Edge, we're here!"

Rolling his eyes in annoyance, the Rated R Superstar tiptoed across the fog-slicked street. He came face to face with the Hardy brothers, who had, like himself, dressed to blend in with the night. Matt was wearing all black, including gloves and a ski mask. Jeff was dressed in a full ninja costume, his monocle fastened securely to the front of his ninja hood with black electrical tape.

Edge sighed. "Guys, I told you to dress inconspicuously."

Matt glared. "You told us to dress to blend into the shadows, Edge. So, we dressed as a thief and a ninja. What's your problem?"

Jeff stepped forward. "Yeah, don't make me cut you." He brandished a throwing star.

Adam looked at Matt. "You gave him weapons?", he asked dryly, raising an eyebrow in the older Hardy's direction.

Matt sighed and pulled the throwing star out of Jeff's hand, ignoring his brother's petulant whine. "So what did you want to meet with us about?"

Adam furrowed his brow, gazing at the brothers in complete earnestness. "As leader of the gays, I speak for my people. We wish to form an alliance with you Hardys, in order to catch the one who is known only as the Peeper."

Matt and Jeff glanced at each other.

"Forgive us, oh leader of the gays", said Jeff slowly, "But we know not if we can trust you or your people. Any one of you could be the Peeper, or be helping to hide him. After all, you would not cooperate with our investigation yesterday."

Adam glared. When he spoke, it was through gritted teeth. "My people do not take well to being interrogated, or told what to do, or how to do it. It is an inherent trait of gay-dom. If we…" He threw up in his mouth a bit. "If we cooperate with your investigation, will you trust us then?"

Matt replied, "Yeah, we would. All we want to do is eliminate you as suspects."

Jeff nodded in agreement and then burped.

Adam sighed, disgusted with Jeff's display of meathead immaturity. "Very well. I will let my people know. They will not be happy, but they will sacrifice this thing, if it means catching the pervert who peeped at their man-junk the other night."

"We'll get him", said Jeff gravely, "The gays and the Hardys will make an unbeatable team!"

Adam smirked devilishly. "You know", he said, "I've been trying to tell you that for years."

Winking, the flaming Canadian butt-pirate sauntered off into the foggy night, swinging his hips and humming.

He left a very confused ninja and a very annoyed thief behind him in the shadows of the empty street.

* * * * * * *

Standing behind the pink podium in the gay locker room, Jeff glanced down at his notes and fussily adjusted his monocle. When he realized that he had nothing helpful written down, he sighed and looked up at the room full of expectant gays.

"Jack Swagger, please have a seat in the interrogation chair," Jeff asked politely.

The Hardy Detective Agency had already interviewed a number of the faerie wrestlers, but Batista, Hornswoggle, Kane, Kung Fu Naki and Randy Orton were unable to provide any useful information regarding the identity or whereabouts of the one they called "the Peeper."

"Jack," Jeff began, as Matt bent over his notebook diligently taking notes. "Where were you the night of the first attack on Mickie James?"

"Jeffth, I wuthz here in our locker room that entire night. Randy was conthstipated and I wuthz adminithstering Ex-Lax® via intravenouth line into his rectal pathage. Bethides, Mickie ithz a girl and I don't like girlthz."

Jeff was giggling the entire time Jack spoke, unable to move past the fact that the big blonde linebacker had a very pronounced lisp. Jeff was also known to laugh uncontrollably at things like fart jokes and old people with canes.

"Jeff, shut up, you massive turd!" Matt quietly hissed from behind his notebook. "We don't want the gays to get pissed off at us. We may need them to crack the case!"

Jeff forced himself to stop chortling and got back to the interrogation.

"Ok, where were you the night Matt was peeped upon?" Jeff inquired of the former ECW champion.

"I, uh don't remember," stammered Swagger, looking down at the dingy concrete floor.

"Oh really? You don't remember, huh?" Jeff said accusingly. He looked back at Matt with raised eyebrows and wide eyes, thinking they finally might have the pig Peeper in their grasp.

Jack suddenly looked scared. His eyes darted around the room, as if searching for a rescuer. A big, burly, sweaty hero to save him from this pain.

"Where WERE you when Matty got peeped on, Swagger?" Jeff asked with FBI-like authority. He could feel it – the case was about to be cracked wide open. He let out a small fart as he shimmered with excitement.

"I wuthz…I wuthz…" Jack was sweating profusely at this point under the intense scrutiny of the Hardy Detective Agency.

"HE WAS WITH ME AT THE HOLIDAY INN EXPRESS IN DELAWARE THAT NIGHT!" someone bellowed from the back of the room.

All eyes turned to Batista and a hushed gasp emanated from the gaggle of gays. Realizing what had just happened, Matt threw up in his mouth a little bit, forcing the image of those dirty deeds out of his head. He went back to writing furiously in his notebook.

"You BITCH!" screamed Kung Fu Naki at the top of his tiny Asian lungs. He was directing this missive at Jack Swagger, apparently unaware that his blonde butt-buddy was secretly banging The Animal on the side.

All hell broke loose in the gay locker room then. Bitchslaps galore! This was one catfight the Hardys did not want to see. Realizing that none of the gays were the Peeper, they gathered up their detective tools and got out of there.

Back in the safety of the empty hallway, Jeff turned to his brother and said, "The gays didn't do it. The gays are innocent."

Matt nodded in agreement, leaning up against the cold wall for support.

The Hardy Detective Agency would have to ramp up the search for new clues. The Peeper had to go down, and quick.

"Fuck the Peeper," the brothers said in unison, and skipped down the hallway toward the non-gay locker room.

* * * * * * *

The Pooper was squatting in a shadowy corner of the hallway. The cleaning crew would not be happy about leaving this bucket out last night, of that he was sure. He finished depositing his brown gift in the plastic container and skulked away, back into the shadows.

If anyone would have been around, they may have seen a bright letter "L" slinking away into the darkness.

* * * * * * *

_"Dream of Californication! Dream of Californication!..."_

The Peeper smiled at Anthony Kiedis' zen words, echoing warmly through his underground lair.

The simple, poignant lyrics reminded him of his mission. They reminded him of his weiner.

And, most importantly, they reminded him that the Hardys had to pay for what they had done to him.

He hugged himself and grinned stupidly. This was going to be so much fun.

* * * * * * *

**What does the Peeper have in store for the brothers Hardy? Who is the Peeper?! And what is up with the damn Pooper, for god's sake?!!!**


	6. The Monocle Has Risen

**A/N: We're growing closer to solving the mystery of the Peeper!! Uh, not really, I guess. But Onions, the Hardys, the gays, and I, BreakingFable, are all working around the clock to bring you the culprit.****With that said, let's answer some reviews!**

**Esha Napoleon, the gays are fierce and territorial when it comes to protecting their boy-toys; to witness their bitch-fights would indeed be awesome. Animal Luvr 4 Life, oh, what a tangled web the gays weave… (and the Peeper….) (I would say the Pooper too, but he's just a moron…) Renna33, thanks for STILL sticking around through all the idiocy, and we will try to update more frequently. Azrael-013, WOW, you left us like 4 reviews!! Crazy!!! One guess for Shawn Michaels. Noted. That's as good a theory to have as any other. The guy does like to dress up in crazy outfits, after all. But we're not telling if it's right… Takers dark lover, glad you're digging the story! John Cena is another good guess, but we're not telling yet. InsanityPrevails, thank you for laughing at our story; hopefully the suck factor will be low as future chapters are posted. :) Seraphalexiel, Shane makes total sense. Does that mean it will be him? Not necessarily. Keep reading! **

**Seriously, guys, thanks to all who took the time to review. It was cool of you.**

**WWE owns all, Onions and BreakingFable own not a thing.**

The Peeper sneered as tonight's hot manflesh was served on a silver platter. Not his favorite dish, but that would come later.

For now, he would feast on a quivering bucket of Y2J.

Mmm Mmm Good.

* * * * * * *

Chris Jericho sauntered into his private locker room, a cocky half-grin upon his face. Sweat dripped down his bare chest in steady rivulets, soaking his pit-hair, as well as his sparkly wrestling shorts.

"Ho Hum, Ho Hum, it's time to wash my bum!", he sang merrily, "Ho Heen, Ho Heen, it's best to clean my ween!!"

Jericho was in a good mood tonight. He had beaten C.M. Retard's ass, kicking him in the nuts twice before throwing a solid pin on him. He'd quietly farted on the Straightedge Superstar as he held him down, being sure to leave his unique and smelly calling card behind for Punk to cherish.

He hummed happily to himself as he began to strip, peeling sweaty shorts out of his buttcrack and down his stout legs. He grabbed his loofah and dandruff shampoo and stepped into the cold tiled shower stall. As he turned on the hot water full blast, he let out one more raucous, blaring buttsong.

He sighed deliciously.

Jericho closed his eyes, letting the warm spray of the shower wash over his body.

"Ooooooooh yeah", he hissed, "Now all I need is a bottle of Jack, and I'll be set."

A jarring crash tore Jericho from his calm reverie suddenly.

"What the fuck?!!!", he yelled, "Who's there?!"

Squinting, with soap in his eyes, Jericho looked out into the room. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw two brown boots and a gay-ass cape.

"Cody is that you?", he asked, scrubbing at his stinging eyes. He received no answer. "Answer me, god dammit!!"

He turned off the shower and looked around.

The door, which had been shut and locked, now hung wide open. The locker room was empty.

"Mother fucker", he whispered, "No one peeps on Jericho. NO ONE-!"

His angry proclamation was cut short as the caped figure he'd seen not a moment ago ran back through the door. The masked man barreled straight for the soaked, half-naked superstar, his ugg boots making no sound on the concrete floor.

"HOLY FUCK!!!!", screamed Jericho, just before the strange intruder ran into his chest, head down like a battering ram. All of the air left the Canadian superstar's lungs as he was pushed back into the wall. The back of his head hit the unyielding brick, and Jericho's vision began to darken. He whimpered in pain when another blow landed squarely on his jaw, springboarding his head back into the wall again. Chris slid down limply onto the floor, his eyes closing.

The Peeper stood over him, smirking beneath his latex mask. The bait was in the trap.

Now all he had to do was wait.

* * * * * * *

Jeff's face was screwed up in disgust as he regarded the bag of colorful candy in his hands.

"I will be suing Skittles for false advertising", he said somberly, "They taste nothing like a rainbow. They taste more like poop."

Matt regarded his brother incredulously. "Jeff", he said slowly, "We were discussing the Peeper. Remember?"

Jeff stopped glaring hatefully at the red bag of candy, and looked up. He casually tossed the open bag of Skittles over his shoulder, either not noticing or ignoring the fact that candy went flying everywhere. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry."

Matt pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes tightly, as if he were trying desperately to stem off a headache.

"I was just going to go over the list of victims", said the older Hardy, "Maybe see if we could detect a pattern."

Jeff nodded his approval, screwing in his monocle as he did so.

Matt began to read from his notebook, ignoring the many X-rated doodles and random swear words that were scrawled across each page like so much graffiti.

"First victim: Mickie James. Second, was me. Third, the Deadman."

Jeff chewed on his pencil, leaving teeth impressions all over the soft wood. "You think the Undertaker wears jammies to bed?", he asked, "Or does he sleep naked, like Wolverine?"

Matt just stared, knowing that if he waited long enough, his brother's stupidity would just slowly peter out, and eventually lower itself back down to reasonable levels.

"Wolverine is awesome", Jeff whispered reverently. He straightened his monocle out, then gestured for Matt to continue.

Taking a breath and clearing his throat, the older Hardy read, "Santino was next. He was pooped upon and peeped upon in the same day. Coincidence? Maybe. But it seems kinda weird. We should write his ass up as a suspect."

Jeff looked like he wasn't buying it. "_Santino_?! I think that guy rode the short bus to school, Matty. He wouldn't have been able to keep ahead of us for this long."

Matt looked thoughtful. "Maybe, but that doesn't matter. Look at Shane McMahon. _He_ rode the short bus to his private school in Connecticut, and today he's Vice President of WWE!"

Jeff shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. "Who else?"

"The gays were next."

The young Hardy's green eyes flashed. "Yeah, and then that meaty fucker attacked me."

"So what do all those victims have in common?", asked Matt, brow furrowed in concentration.

"They all have penises?", offered Jeff helpfully. Matt rolled his eyes.

Suddenly, Matt's cell phone lit up. "My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard…", it sang, signaling Hunter's presence on the line. The older Hardy answered quickly.

"Hey, H, what's up?"

"You and your fairy brother still investigating that pervert-in-tights thing?", he asked, his voice rough and urgent-sounding.

"Uh…. Yeah. Why?"

"You left the arena yet?"

"Nope. Why?"

"I just found Jericho in his locker room, all unconscious and beaten up. This shit is getting out of hand." The big man actually sounded scared.

"We'll be right there! Just stay there!"

Matt hung up the phone before Hunter could reply. He rose, quickly gathering his notebook and investigative tools.

"What the fuck is happening?", asked Jeff.

Matt spun to face his brother, his face grim.

"I'll tell you on the way. Make sure you bring your monocle and your magnifying glass. You're gonna fucking need them tonight."

* * * * * * *

The Hardys arrived at Chris Jericho's locker room approximately five minutes later. The arena was eerily silent, as most of the superstars and backstage crew had gone home.

The first thing both Matt and Jeff noticed was that the door was flung wide open, spilling light into the hallway. They approached the small room cautiously, not knowing what they were going to find. Slowly, slowly, they peeked their heads around the doorframe, tension knotting in their guts.

There were two still, lifeless bodies lying facedown on the floor. One was Jericho. One was Hunter.

"Oh, fuck", whispered Jeff. His face was pale as he stared at the unconscious forms of his friends. Who the hell was big enough to just take down Hunter like that?

Jeff glanced over at his brother, who was dialing his phone frantically.

"Who are you calling?", he whispered.

"911."

A violent blow to the back of his head ensured that Matt never completed the call. The dark-haired Hardy brother dropped to the ground, unconscious. His cell phone went skidding across the cold concrete floor, far out of Jeff's reach.

The younger Hardy turned, and faced his brother's attacker. There, in all his resplendent glory, stood the Peeper. Jeff tried to remain calm, schooling his features into a mask that was as expressionless as the Peeper's own. He knew he was failing miserably.

"Who are you?", the young Hardy asked, his tone unsteady.

His only answer was the Peeper's pointer finger, wagged right and left in an admonishing fashion. Of course, Jeff realized. If he spoke, he'd be recognized immediately.

"What do you want?", whispered Jeff, fear in his voice.

The Peeper took a small step forward. He pointed at him and Matt, then at himself, and then motioned down the hallway.

Jeff's eyes widened in alarm. "You want us to go with you?!"

The Peeper pointed at his nose and nodded, to indicate that he had guessed correctly.

"What if we don't go?", Jeff asked in a small voice.

That horrible mask seemed to be grinning. The Peeper reached into the recesses of his cape, and pulled out a very, VERY large knife.

Jeff backed up, only to find that he had hit the wall. "What are you gonna do with us?"

The Peeper shrugged.

He waved the knife at the unconscious Matt. He was obviously instructing Jeff to pick his brother up.

Staying as far away from their fucked-up captor as was possible, Jeff grabbed one of Matt's arms and threw it around his shoulders. The young Hardy began to slowly, clumsily make his way down the long hallway, every step hindered by Matt's dead weight.

"God dammit, Matt", he muttered angrily, "Your fat ass is not allowed to get any more gravy on your tacos!"

The brothers' progress was slow, but steady, and eventually, they began to make their way further and further from the familiar locker room area.

"Where are we going?", panted Jeff, his face slick with sweat. They had been walking for an hour now, threading the dark crew passages of the arena, which the Peeper seemed to know like the back of his hand.

The Peeper only shrugged in response. Jeff wanted to kick him in the nads.

"Asshole", he grumbled, hefting Matt up for the hundredth time.

The Peeper watched every move the young Hardy made, a wide grin plastered across his chiseled face. They were almost to the Boiler Room. They were almost home.

The Hardys would finally pay for their interference in his plans.

This would be the best night ever.

* * * * * * *

**Will Matt and Jeff survive?! Will Jeff's back give out?! What ever happened to the Pooper?! Are Jericho and Hunter alive?!!!! WHO THE HELL IS THE PEEPER?!!! **

**Send us reviews!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**


	7. Peeping Through The Veil

**A/N: The Peeper Party is coming to its Peak! AH HA! Your questions are about to be answered, so hang on for the ride, everybody!**

**Animal Luvr 4 Life, even **_**we**_** don't know what's going on most of the time. Check it out, because the Peeper will be revealed THIS VERY CHAPTER!! Seraphalexiel, glad you're sticking with us, because this story is definitely a showcase of our insanity. You'll find out if your guess is right this chapter! Sunligh584, thank you! You're the first to guess Kane, I think. Is that right? Keep reading…. Esha Napoleon, we died when we saw that you were reading this with your grandma! That's so awesome! I hope you two are betting on the outcome. That would be even cooler. ;) Sadness1986, the Peeper is one messed up individual. That spells one sucky night for Matt and Jeff, and a lot of fun for the rest of us who just so happen to be peeking in on them. :) Candy clouds, Onions and I were freaking dying at your description of the Pooper's "little brown gifts". Landmines! Priceless. LOL. I definitely want to steal that. :) Renna33 and InkyDoodle, just breathe. It'll be okay. Now, at long last, is your answer. Here comes the Peeper!!! :)**

**As always, WWE owns all, we own nothing.**

Hunter groaned and rolled over, his meaty behind slapping against the cold floor.

"Oooooh, motherfucker", he moaned, bringing a hand to his aching head.

He looked around the locker room with bleary eyes. Jericho was passed out right next to him, face down on the floor. Hunter slowly moved over to the unconscious Canadian superstar, a scowl on his face. Jericho let out a loud snort, something between a whine and a snore. Hunter rolled his eyes, annoyed. Leaning down, he slapped the younger man hard across his blubbery asscheeks in an effort to wake him.

Jericho screamed like a girl when the pain from Hunter's slap lanced across his ass. He jumped up, crying, "STAY AWAY FROM MY POOPSHOOT!!!!"

Hunter ignored the retarded plea of his comrade. He began to walk slowly and methodically around the small locker room, searching for clues as to the whereabouts of the Hardy boys. If that Peeper fuck had managed to catch _him _off guard, he was sure that Matt and Jeff would be screwed when they tried to confront him. Whoever that perverted shit was, he was fast for his size.

Jericho pulled himself to his feet. "What the fuck are you doing in my locker room, asshole?", he asked, his voice unsteady.

Hunter glared at the younger man. "Shut up and help me look around."

Chris looked incredulous. "For what?"

"For any sign of the Hardys", Hunter grated, his tone impatient, "We need to figure out if they were here, and if so, if they ran into the Peeper."

Jericho didn't seem to give two shits about Matt or Jeff, but he did as he was told to avoid receiving an ass-beating from the larger man. The two superstars thoroughly combed the locker room, but found nothing. Moving into the hallway, Hunter's eyes immediately fell onto a cell phone lying on the floor.

"Son of a bitch", he cursed under his breath. He bent to pick it up, gasping as he recognized the phone as belonging to Matt. He gripped the pink Nokia in his meaty hand, staring down at the rainbow unicorn sticker adorning its back. Matt never went anywhere without that thing. Hunter's eyes narrowed dangerously. Had the Peeper abducted the Hardys? They had obviously answered the call he'd made to them earlier. They'd obviously been here. So where were they now?

Hunter closed his eyes tightly and rubbed at his temple. He needed help on this, and that whiny bitch Jericho wouldn't suffice. Pocketing Matt's phone, he pulled out his own cell, and made a call.

He slid down the white-washed walls of the hallway, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He ignored Jericho's persistent, whiny questions.

He waited in impatient silence, going over clues and possibilities in his head. Until Mark arrived, there was really nothing he could do.

* * * * * * *

Matt's hands were clammy. The air stunk of unwashed socks and musty underwear. He could see Jeff to the left of him, tied to a chair, pantyhose stretched tightly across his chest and calves. Matt could see he was in the same predicament, although the "rope" used to subdue him seemed to be some sort of shiny, mesh material – perhaps several thongs tied together?

"Mmmm…thongs…" Matt thought to himself and drifted off.

Jeff watched from about four feet away as his older brother's expression faded into a dream state. He must be thinking about thongs again, Jeff thought to himself. Matt could be a real perv sometimes.

Jeff tried to call out to his bro, but his mouth was stuffed with what felt like cotton balls, and he couldn't move his arms or legs. It was like the time CM Punk farted in the rental car, locked the windows and turned the heat on full blast. Paralyzing.

After about 10 minutes, Matt snapped out of his blissful daze and nodded to his brother, eyes wide with a mix of fear and hunger. He realized he hadn't eaten for at least two hours and was beginning to worry. Matt needed at least six servings of Mexican food and Waffle House fare every day or his skin started to peel.

Suddenly, Jeff motioned with his head for Matt to look to the right. They found themselves staring right into the eyes of The Peeper.

The bastard just stood there peering through his creepy plastic mask at the helpless brothers. His cape was dirty and fraying in certain spots, as if he had been in a street fight, and his Superman shirt was crusted over with an unknown brownish substance.

"Disgusting," Matt thought, a chill running down his spine. What kind of human turd would wear that outfit, complete with spandex tights and lambs wool Ugg boots? No man he knew, that was for sure.

The Peeper fished around in the top of his tights and pulled out a round piece of glass.

"My muh-nuh-kuh!" mumbled Jeff excitedly through the mound of cotton balls in his mouth.

The caped villain walked over to the younger Hardy and placed the monocle over Jeff's left eye. He then punched him in the stomach and, chuckling, grabbed the glass disc roughly, causing Jeff to cry out in surprise and pain. Throwing the monocle onto the concrete floor, the Peeper stepped on it, crushing it under his ugg-booted foot. Jeff stared forlornly at the glass shards that had once comprised his beloved monocle, as if he were mourning the loss of a dear friend. The Peeper, as if to add insult to injury, farted in Jeff's face before moving to the opposite side of the musty, damp room, laughing all the way. Matt looked over at his brother concernedly, shooting a furious glance at their captor for his rough treatment of him.

The Peeper had grand plans for these two meddling fools. He would show them. He would make the Hardys sorry they'd ever begun their quest to unmask him. He gleefully wrung his hands together as he slowly and methodically began to prepare his "torture table." The Hardys' eyes widened in horror as they were confronted with the items on the small, wooden tray table. A buzzsaw sat next to a filthy-looking jockstrap, which in turn had been placed near a few cartons of eggs and a thin piece of wood. The Peeper turned towards the terrified brothers, rubbing his hands together in glee. He couldn't wait to begin.

Matt and Jeff Hardy would pay. He had warned them. Now, it was too late.

They couldn't see the Peeper's face, but both brothers knew he was grinning happily beneath the façade of that fucked-up Shatner mask.

* * * * * * *

It took the better part of an hour for the Undertaker to arrive at the arena. When he finally showed up, he wasn't alone.

Hunter stared at the gaggle of gay wrestlers surrounding the Deadman. They looked pissed and ready for business. A few were wearing warpaint. A lot of them carried weapons such as baseball bats or table legs or, in one instance, a red stiletto pump.

Hunter pointed at the group of gays. "What the fuck is this?"

Edge sauntered forward, hands on hips. "We have as much reason to want the Peeper gone as you. Mark called me and told me what was going on. I rallied the boys here. That fucking pervert is a menace to both locker rooms, straight and gay. He needs to be taken out!"

"No shit, Sherlock", muttered Hunter, rolling his eyes.

"We need to get moving", growled the Undertaker authoritatively, "They have at least an hour and a half lead on us. Who knows what that sick fuck will do to Matt and Jeff, once he gets them alone?"

"How are we gonna find them?", asked Jericho.

Everyone turned towards Chris and stared, shocked into silence.

"What the hell are you assclowns staring at?", Jericho glared, "The Peeper looked at my dingle too. Aren't I entitled to go on your little Hardy Party scavenger hunt?"

The Undertaker swept forward and grabbed hold of Jericho's throat. "Sure, you can come along", he grated, "But you slow us down even slightly, and you can kiss your 'dingle' good-bye. Got me?"

"Did you just threaten to Loreena Bobbitt me?", Jericho choked out, his eyes wide.

Dropping the Canadian superstar in disgust, the Undertaker led the way towards the back crew passages, walking with sure feet, as if he'd known the way all along.

* * * * * * *

Matt was squirming in his chair, his eyes darting wildly. He was sweating profusely and almost whimpering. His bowels were vibrating uncontrollably at this point, and he tried to scream to get his captor's attention.

The Peeper was still across the room arranging things on a table and humming, seemingly oblivious to his guests.

"What the fuck is that goofy bastard doing?" Matt thought. He was concentrating as hard as he could, squeezing his cheeks together and trying to control his breathing. If he didn't get to a bathroom soon, there was going to be more than the smell of unwashed socks in here.

Jeff could see his brother was in distress and started rocking his chair back and forth, trying to get the mysterious villain to turn around. He rocked so hard and so fast, he fell right over.

Luckily, the force of the fall knocked the cotton balls out of his mouth and he was able to speak. "Hey bitch!" Jeff yelled. "My brother is about to shit his pants, you dumb freak! Take him to a bathroom now!"

The Peeper stalked over to where Jeff was lying on the ground. The younger Hardy thrashed around, struggling to free himself from the thongs binding him to the chair. His strange captor knelt in front of him, anger evident in every particle of his body language. He roughly grabbed Jeff's long hair and pulled, causing the younger Hardy to cry out in pain. Jeff tried to pull out of his grasp, but he found that the more he struggled, the more his hair became entangled in the Peeper's meaty hands. The young Hardy made a high-pitched, whining noise in protest.

Then, quite suddenly and without warning, the Peeper did something entirely unexpected.

He spoke.

"It's all part of the torture, Jeffy", he hissed furiously, his deep, rich-toned voice utterly familiar to both Jeff and Matt, "You see, I know the state of Matt's bowels. The boy's entire diet consists of truck stop food and, on a good day, McDonald's. He can't go an hour without taking a great big poo. Not this time, though." The Peeper sounded pleased with himself. "He's gonna sit here, and he's gonna hold it, and hold it, and hold it, and hold it, until it hurts so bad that he thinks he might explode. And even then, I might not let him go."

"I just pooped in my pants", announced Matt, his words muffled by the gag.

"CENA?????????!!!!!!!!!!", shouted Jeff, his eyes wide on their captor.

The Peeper hesitated, then moved his hands up to his mask. "Well, I guess there's no need for this anymore. Knew I should've kept my mouth shut." He removed the cheap William Shatner mask, and revealed his face. The face of the one and only John Cena.

"What the fuck, man?!", yelled Jeff, his struggles renewing.

"Yeah! What the fuck?!", shouted Matt through the gag.

"I had something good going here!", Cena said, a wide grin upon his beet-red face, "No one was ever hurt by what I did! I would just take a look once in a while, you know?" His wistful smile suddenly disappeared, replaced by a look of dark fury.

Cena tugged on Jeff's hair, causing him to hiss in pain. "You two shouldn't have been so god damn nosy! If you hadn't been, none of this would've happened. I would still have my penis buffet, and you…" He paused. "Well, I wouldn't be forced to do what I have to do here tonight."

Both brothers' eyes widened when they heard that. What was Cena going to do with them?

"Cena-", Jeff began. He was cut off by dirty cotton balls being shoved back into his mouth. He nearly threw up at the taste.

"Now", said Cena, standing back up and wiping dust off of his already filthy tights, "who should I torture first?"

Matt and Jeff looked at each other pensively. How did they get themselves into these messes?

* * * * * * *

**How **_**do **_**the Hardys get themselves into these messes? It's an eternal mystery, I suppose. Congratulations to those who guessed Cena!!! I know there were a couple of you. In the great tradition of Marvel Comics, you shall receive a No-Prize in the mail. :)**

**Well, everyone, the identity of the Peeper has been revealed, but that doesn't mean our story has come to an end. Will Mark, Hunter, Chris, and the Gays come to the Hardys' rescue before it's too late?! Will our boys expire beneath the ugg boot of tyranny? Will Matt and Jeff suffer a fate worse than death (namely, falling into a pile of CM Punk's unwashed laundry; OOOH BURN!!!!!)? And what the hell ever happened to the Pooper?!**

**Find out next time! And review!!! :)**


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